The Legion - Scarrow Simon (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

The priest flashed a guilty smile. 'I'm worried about the other ship. It hasn't arrived yet. It hasn't even been sighted.'

'No. The repairs are probably taking longer than was thought. I don't suppose a small naval station gets many visitors other than…' Cato fell silent. A cold tide of dread seeped up through his guts. He turned and hurried down the beach towards his ship, seeking out the trierarch.

'The supply station you sent the ship to. Tell me about it.'

'I've called in there a few times over the years. Not much to say.' The trierarch pursed his lips. 'They carry stores and supplies. They have a small team of carpenters who can make emergency repairs. The garrison covers the Tanitic mouth and mounts patrols into the delta. Used to be a lot busier before it began to silt up and the mangroves made the tributary unusable for shipping.'

'Show me the location on the chart,' Cato ordered.

While the trierarch hurried up the gangway on to the ship, Macro came over. 'You look like you've swallowed a turd. What's happening?'

'I'm not sure,' Cato replied, trying to stifle his anxiety. 'It's just a feeling. A possibility.'

The trierarch returned, clutching a rolled-up map. He knelt in the pool of light cast by the nearest fire and spread the map. His finger traced along the coastline and stopped. 'Here, sir. That's where the supply station is. Epichos.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

The sails had been taken off the ships and the yards lowered to the deck to reduce the chance that they would be spotted from the shore as they approached. The oars were out and the warships were making their way, very slowly, towards the headland. Cato stood in the foredeck turret straining his eyes as he stared towards the distant outline of the watchtower, barely discernible against the night sky. Macro had landed with a handful of legionaries over two hours earlier. Shortly afterwards he had sent a boat back to the Sobek to report that there were three ships beached on the shore in front of the supply base, one of which was the Thoth. There had been no sign of any movement on the ship. That was proof enough for Cato and he had given the order for the attack he had planned with Macro to go ahead, as soon as the first hint of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon.

Macro would strike first, taking the watchtower on the headland and the lookout post before the sentries could detect the ships approaching from sea and raise the alarm. He had taken Hamedes with him in case they were challenged. Hamedes would claim that he had been forced ashore when his fishing boat had begun to leak. It might buy them a few moments, long enough to spring a surprise. As soon as the towers were in Macro's hands, he would signal the ships waiting to attack. Cut off from the sea, Ajax and his men would be trapped in the fort. They would have to surrender, or more likely they would choose to fight to the last man. Either way, their end was assured, Cato reflected.

He heard the ladder creaking behind him and a moment later the trierach joined him.

'Too early for Macro to go into action, I suppose.'

'Yes, but not long now.' Cato glanced at the horizon and thought he detected the faintest loom dividing the sea and the sky. 'When we get the signal, I want the ship to enter the bay as swiftly as possible. Ajax must not escape.'

'We'll do it in good time, sir. The Sobek will be past the headland long before the enemy can put to sea. You have my word.'

'And I shall hold you to it.'

Neither man spoke for a moment before the trierarch asked, 'Do you think there's a chance that some of the crew of the Thoth were taken prisoner, sir?'

'I doubt it. If I am any judge of Ajax's character, he will not have spared their lives. And that might be a good thing.'

'Sir?'

'Those prisoners he took during the rebellion in Crete were often saved for a far worse fate than a quick death.' Cato's tone hardened. 'Your comrades are dead. Set your heart on avenging them.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato turned and looked round at the dark masses of the other vessels. There was no sound from them, even though hundreds of marines and legionaries stood and waited on their decks, while hundreds more manned the oars. Aside from the faint rush of water along the hulls and the splash of oar blades, the ships were like shadows as they stole towards the coast.

'There, sir,' the trierarch said quickly. 'Dawn's breaking.'

Cato looked. There was a definite glow along the horizon now. He turned towards the watchtower once again. Still nothing. He muttered under his breath, 'Come on, Macro. It all depends on you.'

Macro lay flat on the ground beside an outcrop of rocks. Twenty paces away the squat mass of the tower on the headland loomed against the skyline. Already, there was a thin wash of light that allowed him to pick out some of the detail in the ground around him. His party had disposed of the sentries in the lookout post and had been about to take their second objective when a small group of men had approached from the direction of the fort. There had just been time to take cover, and a moment later several figures strode past. There was an exchange of words with the men in the tower but the sound of the small waves breaking over the rocks on the headland made it impossible to make out what was said.

If the party of men didn't leave soon he would have to risk making his attack against less favourable odds. In addition to Hamedes, he had ten legionaries with him. Ten men against the half dozen who had approached the tower and perhaps another four or five inside. Ten Romans and one priest, Macro corrected himself. Still, Hamedes was solid enough and might be useful in a tight spot. Two tenders and their sailors were waiting in a small cove back along the headland, ready to evacuate them if for any reason they failed to take the towers and had to escape in a hurry.

Macro eased his hand back and drew his sword, wincing at the faint sound of scraping as the tip cleared the scabbard. He held it tightly as he raised his head as much as he dared to get a better view of the tower. Beside him Hamedes took a sharp breath and whispered, 'We should go, Centurion. There's too many of them. They'll kill us.'

'Quiet,' Macro hissed. 'And don't move, or I'll kill you myself.'

He switched his attention back to the tower, clearly visible against the horizon. It would not be long before the sentries caught sight of the approaching ships and raised the alarm, Macro realised. Then, at last, the men from the fort turned away from the tower and began to retrace their steps along the headland. As they passed Macro's hiding place, his heart began to race as he recognised their leader.

'Ajax,' he breathed softly through gritted teeth. He felt his muscles tense like iron and an icy rage gripped his body so that it took all his self-control not to spring from cover and hack the gladiator to bloody pieces. As he lay, trembling with fury, visions, smells and emotions filled his mind with a raw intensity as he recalled the shaming torments that Ajax had subjected him to. Torments that he had tried to forget and suppress. Things he had never confessed to even his closest friend, Cato, and never would. Macro shut his eyes, blanking out the barely discernible figure of Ajax. He breathed deeply, fighting back against the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. When he opened his eyes again, the gladiator and his companions had disappeared down the track that led to the beach on the inside of the headland.

Macro rose into a crouch and turned to the silent shapes lying on the ground behind him. 'On me,' he growled softly.

He moved forward, keeping low, and there was a faint swishing through the dry grass behind him as his men followed. Keeping in the shadow of the rocks, Macro moved stealthily towards the tower. He could see that the heavy door at the base of the tower was open. Above, on the platform, he heard voices muttering and a faint rustle as the morning breeze stirred the tips of the palm leaves of the sunshade. Macro scurried across the open ground in front of the tower, making straight for the door. Then a figure appeared in the frame, and froze. Macro powered forward, lowering the tip of his sword. At the last moment he punched the blade forward and it ripped into the man's midriff an instant before Macro's shoulder struck him in the chest. He slammed the man back through the door, across the interior of the tower until he struck one of the posts holding up the floor above. The man grunted as the breath was driven out of him and warm spittle and blood splattered Macro's face. Clamping his spare hand over the man's mouth, Macro thrust the sword up into the ribcage, ripping through vital organs. His opponent struggled frantically and then abruptly slumped forward on to Macro. He drew back, wrenching his blade free, and eased the body down on to the ground. Around him, his men crowded into the tower.